I can tell that my words make her uncomfortable and that I just might be pushing my luck at this point. I wouldn’t say I’m onbadterms with Sierra after last night, not like I have been before, but I’m not exactly on steady footing with her either. I know I still need to tread carefully. If I let her see the truth of just how much I need her, it’d send her running, and I can’t have that.
Sierra hesitates for a moment, then says, “Well, I’m not going to risk spilling coffee in the painting studio, so if he wants to join me for that, I won’t oppose. He’s kind of adorable.”
At that, my wolf lets out a whine and pushes against my skin so hard I almost shift on the spot. That’s a rather unusual occurrence; I’m very in tune with my wolf, more so than most shifters, so he usually doesn’t surface unless we’re both in accord. Around Sierra, though, it seems none of my usual rules apply.
In the end though, I don’t care if I’m in wolf or human form—either way, physical contact with her feels spectacular. She’s a lot more uncomfortable touching me than she is him, for all the obvious reasons—mainly, I can’t seem to keep my desire leashed around her. I can’t be touching her andnotveer in an intimate direction; I want her too much.
Last night was at once bliss and absolute torture. Feeling her soft fingers exploring me, knowing that her interest in methatway was there but not being able to act on it…if she hadn’t kissed me and then spent twenty minutes on my lap, her delicate hands running over my flesh, I don’t think I would’ve been able to contain myself.
I don’t like the lack of self-control I experience around her, but I also know that’s exactly what happens with matehood. Instincts take over and wants and desires become insatiable untamed needs.
Before my wolf can force a shift, I retreat to my bedroom, strip down, and give the other half of me control. A flash of pain overcomes me as my vision blurs and dims. Reality fades away as darkness momentarily takes over. When it recedes, my wolf has taken the wheel.
He paws at the ground, stretching and shaking out his fur before trotting back through my chambers and into the main area, where Sierra’s seated herself at a table with a mug of coffee. My wolf inhales deeply through his nostrils, picking through her various scents. Shesmells like a delicious mix of vanilla and jasmine. Beneath that, he senses that she added a splash of milk and two spoons of sugar to the coffee. He stores that information away, wanting to learn as much about her as possible.
She looks over to us upon our entrance, eyes softening visibly at the sight of us in wolf form. My wolf trots up to her and paws at her leg, silently requesting a similar arrangement to last night—where we’re both on even ground so he can drape himself over her lap and get covered in her scent.
“Alright, alright,” she says with a small laugh, picking up her mug and lowering herself to the ground with her back propped against her chair legs.
Idon’t love the thought of her sitting on the ground—it’s beneath her—but my wolf loves the extra contact and closeness. Like he did last night, he drapes his head over her leg and waits, very impatiently, for her to start petting him.
She doesn’t make him wait long, reaching over with her free hand and burying it in his fur, deliberately scratching behind his ear in a way that makes him pant happily. He sits with her, luxuriating in her scent and attention, until she drains the last of her coffee and gives him a small pat along his spine.
“Alright, wolf, it’s time for me to go.”
He lets out a rumble of irritation at that, not liking the thought of losing the closeness that he revels in. I nudge at him to relent and not push her too hard too fast, and he stands with a chuff, going back to my room, rather unhappily.
When I emerge again in human form, I see that Sierra’s already in her painting studio, mixing pigments with a linseed oil base.
I don’t think she notices me watching her from the doorway, but then she calls out, “Why are my paintings hanging on your walls?”
“Because they’re incredible, and I like having them near me. They’re a daily reminder of how talented my mate is,” I respond.
Sierra hums but doesn’t turn around to face me. I decide I’ve pushed her enough for today and tell her to stay as long as she likes before leaving my chambers and turning to what’s now my second order of business; interrogating Claude.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Sierra
After painting in my brand-new studio for a little while, I decide to track Wyatt down. All morning, I’ve been thinking about our conversation yesterday, contemplating how we can turn our convictions—that segregation between species is dangerous and destructive—into constructive action.
Conversation is great, but it doesn’t fuel change; only decisive moves in the right direction would. If I can work with Wyatt on some sort of foreign policy, that’d cement him as an ally in the palace, one I suspect could bring many benefits. It could also gain me recognition as someone who the shifter population can trust to lead them into the future, which could afford me the power I’d need to eventually shift my focus to humans and humanitarian aid.
I may not havewantedmy position in the shifter hierarchy, but I have it, and to waste the power I could use to change the world for the better would be idiotic. I have many,manyvalid grievances about mylife growing up; if I can do something to make sure no person is ever impoverished and left to fend for themselves like I was, I’d sleep much easier. As of right now, however, helping humans can’t be my primary focus, not with war on the horizon. I need to look at the most pressing matters first.
A castle servant gives me directions to the war room, where I’m told Wyatt spends much of his time. The room itself is a marvel—constructed with dark bricks and accented with dark brown wooden tones. It’s gigantic, with one huge table taking up the center space. Overhead hangs a brilliant chandelier, and the walls are decorated with art work depicting men and wolves in battle.
Wyatt stands beside the table, leaning over it, appearing deeply concentrated. A map of Earth’s continents is painted onto the entire surface, so beautifully colored and intricately detailed I pause for a moment to study the artistry.
The only maps available in my village were old and worn down, most of them dating back to centuries ago when humans held dominance in this world. The map in front of me is so wildly different that I blink several times to take it in. The region that was once North America, Mexico, and the northeast half of Canada is now overtaken by wolf shifters, labeled as the Empire of Acuria. The northwest half of what was formerly Canada belongs to witches, now called Raith.Fascinating.
I find Aesara, which is a few hundred miles south of the capital, and my heart pangs at the thought of my home village. At the idea that, while I’m surrounded by wealth, beauty, and luxury, the people who I grew up with and helped me raise Leisel when times were hard are still struggling to put food on the table. I have to do what I can to help them.
Wyatt glances over at me. “Hey. I didn’t expect to see you in here today.”
I raise my eyebrows, peeling my eyes away from the beautiful map to look at him. “Why’s that?”
Wyatt grins. “I thought Cam would keep you busy. Obviously, you managed to escape and then sought me out. Why don’t you tell me the reason for that?”
